Taking A Bite Out of the Big Apple

TAKING A BITE OUT OF THE BIG APPLE


What can I say about the Brooklyn Bridge that hasn’t already been said? A thousand species
of fish under its span were cataloged by Eschmeyer. Two-hundred forty-eight wheels
rolling at thirteen miles per hour takes the D
train across the East River in one minute
and thirty-two seconds. Once

upon a time in Manhattan,

I was hoping to introduce one of the aldermen, I can’t recall which Borough, to Roarsh,
a homeless Swede I befriended in the 1970s.
Roarsh had lived on the streets for eighteen years. When the alderman’s limo stopped he kicked his Madison Avenue wingtips up my ass and quipped, “Don’t you ever, ever
talk about my daughter in that manner!”

During the Great Subway Strike of ’85, I walked from mid-town to New Jersey. My second wife rubbed seaweed and olive oil on my feet. We prayed at the Tomb of Abraham, believing the strike was the work of the Jewish Mayor. I’ll never
forget how she showed the Metro workers the tattoo on her forearm before beheading
the Mayor. The strike happily ended while she was on the witness stand, being cross-examined about her grandmother’s estate.